


of space and stars

by nessandrie



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dream Smp, Family Dynamics, Gen, Ghostbur, Hurt/Comfort, Phil's POV, phantommy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28118991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nessandrie/pseuds/nessandrie
Summary: Ghostbur had appeared at his doorstep that morning absolutely begging Phil to come with him to the nether. He had barely managed to blink the sleep out of his eyes and grab his things by the time Wil was pulling him out the door. Phil was never told what was going on, what he was being led to, or what he was being shown, only that he absolutely had to see it and would be overjoyed.That’s how Phil found himself face-to-face with his second ghost son.--or, phil finds out where tommy's been for the past week.
Relationships: TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 15
Kudos: 775





	of space and stars

“Phil, I promise you’re going to love what I have to show you.” he spoke, pulling the survivalist into the portal after him.

  
Ghostbur had appeared at his doorstep that morning absolutely begging Phil to come with him to the nether. He had barely managed to blink the sleep out of his eyes and grab his things by the time Wil was pulling him out the door. Phil was never told what was going on, what he was being led to, or what he was being shown, only that he absolutely had to see it and would be overjoyed.

That’s how Phil found himself face-to-face with his second ghost son. 

“Oh my god.” was all he could manage, his stomach twisting into knots. His skin was gray like Wil’s, with cracks and flowing magma at the extremities. His clothes were torn, burnt, stained, and singed in every possible area. On his face were permanent tear tracks, and lava dripped down his legs onto the netherrack at his feet. Phil thought he could hear the boy humming a song he recognized, but couldn’t put his finger on. The sight horrified him.

The minute Wilbur stood by his side, the boy clutched his hand and stood just behind him. “I know, isn’t it wonderful? I found Tommy! He’s a little bit like me now.” he leaned closer, in a failed attempt to whisper. “He’s a bit shy though, you’ll have to give him a few moments to get used to you.”

Ignoring his warning, Phil took a step forward, reaching his hand out to Tommy’s face. Tears pricked the sides of his eyes, but he did his best to blink them away. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “What happened to you, Toms?” his voice cracked on the last word, and Tommy’s eyes flashed.

The worst pain Phil had ever felt before was the brutal touch of a wither. Every inch of his skin, every nerve in his body coming apart at the seams, all the while his thoughts swim through a thick sea of despair and anguish. His very soul began to rip itself from his body, in preparation for a long and agonizing death. It’s an effect no entity should be able to withstand, an experience so brutal that surviving it leaves a mark on your soul, like a pot of spilled ink on a scrap of parchment.

When Tommy opened his mouth and began speaking, Phil wished he was withering instead.

A wail pierced through his skull and into his brain like a tipped arrow, it’s effects lingering and beginning to fester in his mind. They came in waves. At first, it was anger. An anger, so deep, so primal and visceral, he was mere seconds away from drawing his sword and swinging wildly. He didn’t recognize himself. It felt like someone else was piloting his mind. Flashes of green, the sound of explosions, and the smell of gunpowder dominated his senses. How he hated it. He hated in a way he never had before, a directionless fury that threatened to tear him in half if he didn’t do the same to someone else. Just as it became all-consuming, it stuttered.

The next was despair, quickly snuffing out the fires of rage that had been threatening to consume him. It snuffed out the anger, it snuffed out everything. Every thought he had, every feeling he felt was quickly extinguished, like it had never existed at all. Instead, something different came to consume him. A blanket of hopelessness weighed on his being, and Phil struggled against it’s hold. It seemed like the more he struggled, the heavier it got, giving him no choice but to accept that he was powerless. Accept that he was stuck here. Accept that there was nothing he could do. Accept that there was a pain he would never be able to shake. Tears spilled from his eyes like waterfalls, and he fell to his knees from the pressure.

Phil looked up, expecting to ask Ghostbur for help, to ask anyone to help him get out, but he found that his sons had vanished. His eyes searched frantically, looking for someone, absolutely anyone to shake him from this nightmare. He cried out, but his calls fell on deaf ears. He pleaded, but nobody came. Tears were streaming down his face now, completely out of his control. They wouldn’t stop. His sons had abandoned him. His friends had abandoned him. The world had abandoned him. He was completely, terribly alone. 

Suddenly, it was gone.

Phil blinked open his eyes to see that he had not moved a single inch. He was back by the portal, netherrack under his boots, and his sons standing just a few feet ahead. Tears streamed down his face and his body ached. The shock of his experience had completely knocked the wind out of him, leaving him gasping for air in an attempt to catch his breath. Tommy’s mouth had snapped shut and he hid himself further behind his brother. The quiet humming resumed, and magma began tracing fresh tracks down his face. Was that what Tommy had been through?

“Oh, I’m sorry! Forgot to mention, he doesn’t speak like I do, Philza.” Ghostbur announced, bringing Phil out of his daze and waving his hand apologetically. “Here, have some blue, calm yourself.” That was the moment reality really set in for the survivalist. He was no longer able to speak to his son. Never again would he hear his yelps of excitement, his complaints of the cold, the screaming matches between siblings when one wasn’t getting their way. How feisty his son used to be, now in his place a timid nether-bound ghost, who had gone through experiences he couldn’t even begin to understand. He was so much different now, and Phil wasn’t even sure if Tommy recognized him. He would never be coming home for Christmas, which was only weeks away. The thoughts twisted and turned in his stomach, but he wiped his face and forced himself to stand up straight again.

Ghostbur gave Phil a minute or so to recover and shake himself off, before asking. “Did you remember to bring what I asked of you?”

How could he forget? When Wil showed up, he had been so incredibly insistent that Phil bring just one thing along. “Yes, of course.” Reaching into his pack, he pulled out a pristine black and red record.

In an instant, Tommy was out from behind Wil’s back, reaching tentatively with his free hand. Despite the grim situation, he couldn’t help but smile fondly at the familiar enthusiasm. Nobody had loved discs more than Tommy did. It seemed that the boy noticed the effect his attempts at speech had on Phil, and didn’t try to speak again. Instead, he made brief eye contact, as if asking for permission, and Phil acquiesced. “Go ahead.”

Tommy grabbed the disc without hesitation, and in return handed Phil a potion. The liquid inside was orange with flecks of red and black, and gave off a beautiful sheen. He instantly recognized it as a potion of fire resistance. How thoughtful. “Thank you, Tommy,” he bowed his head, and with this the ghost seemed satisfied.

Not wasting another moment, he turned and instantly headed off in another direction, dragging Wilbur along with him. Phil wasn’t sure if he should follow, but the pang of losing sight of his sons again urged him forward after the two ghosts.

It wasn’t a very long walk at all, and Phil kept relatively good pace. Tommy would occasionally point off into the distance, in the direction of a large basalt delta. He assumed that’s where he must be staying.

When it came time to cross the lava lake, Wibur simply floated to the other side, and Tommy had no trouble hopping down to swim through it, but Phil had to bridge across the chasm. An experienced traveller, this activity was something that should have been quite routine for Phil. He began building his way across with netherrack, a substance sturdy enough to carry his weight, when he shot a glance at the bubbling lava below. Something about the view made him incredibly dizzy, and so he crouched down for a moment to steady himself. Phil let out a yell as he was suddenly shoved off the edge of the bridge. In a panic, he instinctively chugged the potion he had been given. The world ground to a halt around him, as he went careening into the lava in what felt like slow motion. Using the last of his agency, he shot a glance upwards, attempting to spot what had just knocked him over, but all his eyes caught before becoming fully submerged in the lava was another familiar flash of green. 

He gasped, eyes shooting open as he once again found himself couched on the edge of the bridge. Taking in his surroundings, he noticed the empty potion bottle at his side, and realized that nothing much else had changed. He had just been hallucinating. Ghostbur looked at him curiously, while Tommy’s eyes shone knowingly. The implications of the experience made his blood boil. Phil was elated when he reached the other side of the chasm.

When the bastion came into view, he swapped his netherite helmet for a gold one. Taking off his armor for any reason was typically a rule he didn’t break, but he figured now would be an inappropriate time to go slaying mobs minding their own business. Luckily, he found that he didn’t have to worry about it too much, because the bastion seemed to be entirely empty. He wondered with a frown if that was Tommy’s fault.

The structure was a maze to him, but the ghost seemed to know exactly where he was going. The only stop they made on the way was in the middle of a courtyard, where Tommy went to greet a few magma cubes. They flocked to him like excited puppies. Phil frowned deeper, his brows furrowing.

He wondered again how long his son had spent here alone, to have made friends with magma cubes. The thought opened a familiar pit in his mind that he had no time to tackle, and so he chased it away.

It lingered all the same

Finally, they had reached their destination. A small room in the corner of the big structure, containing only some stairs fashioned into seating, a few chests right outside the door and a jukebox. Peering into one of the chests, he found a set of iron armor in perfect condition with a couple of tools. _I suppose he doesn’t need much in death,_ Phil mused, looking around the barren chamber.

It didn’t stop his heart from shattering into a thousand little pieces.

Tommy’s humming grew louder as he approached the jukebox, letting go of Wilbur’s hand to clutch the disc tightly against his chest. He shot a glance at Wilbur and Phil, who both nodded in response, and inserted the disc into the player.

The quiet tune of Chirp started up, and Phil suddenly realized that’s what Tommy had been humming the whole time. The ghost boy opened his mouth, and Phil instinctually flinched, bracing himself for another round of the tidal waves of emotion he expected to experience, but they never came. Curiously, in place of the wails he expected, came quiet, almost human cries. Phil opened his eyes to see Tommy leaning his hands on the side of the little music player, clutching the edge like it would disappear if he didn’t hold tight enough. Thick, heavy magma tears flowed down his cheeks to his chin, fat drops falling to the floor with a quiet sizzle.

Ghostbur, who normally always had something to say, seemed for once to understand the gravity of what was happening before him. He opted instead to take a seat on the floor, quietly observing his baby brother.

Phil stepped closer ever so slowly, and cautiously placed a hand on Tommy’s head. His heart fluttered and he breathed a sigh of relief when his hand didn’t just phase through. The boy seemed not to notice, and if he did, he was too preoccupied to show any sign of it. When the cries grew in volume, now resembling pitiful sobs, and his delicate frame shook from the force of them, the older man enveloped his son with his wings, and began gently ruffling his hair. Almost instantly, Tommy threw his arms around his father and buried his face in his robes. Between cries came occasional hiccups full of charcoal and ash. The lava burned holes in his clothing, and he found himself now much more thankful for the potion he had drank earlier. 

He returned the hug, as though protecting him from harm, and attempted to untangle the matted mess that was his hair. It was something he would do when his boy was much, much younger and found himself in Phil’s doorway late at night. 

Very softly, he rubbed his back in circular motions and asked, “Who is this one about, Toms?” 

Techno liked his hair braided. He said the slow, familiar repetition put him at ease, and so Phil had lost many a good night’s rest meticulously braiding his eldest’s hair into the early hours of the morning. The former would have often dozed off by the time he finished, and Phil would gently tuck him in.

Wil didn’t come as much as the other two, but when he did, he would lay quietly nestled into his father’s chest, and Phil would run his fingers through his loose curls, the soothing motion often putting him to sleep in a matter of minutes.

Tommy used to have lots of nightmares, and no matter what Phil did, he often was unable to chase them away. The only ways he found to soothe the young boy were playing music and telling him stories. Having been an adventurer, he never ran out of tales to tell. They were often edited as to remain age appropriate, but that didn’t make a difference to the young boy. The activity became something that Tommy was quite fond of, and soon enough he was making up his own stories. Phil’s extensive disc collection, matched with Tommy’s vivid childlike imagination, meant he was able to weave a narrative out of even the strangest tunes. Even on his worst nights, where his cries were so loud they threatened to wake the rest of the family, Phil would simply give him a little nudge, and through tears, the boy would launch into some new fantastical world he had created. He would begin telling his stories with enthusiasm, and drift off to finish the rest in his dreams.

  
And so when Phil began hearing a faint _“...l-lady astronaut.”_ through the music and the sobs, he knew things would be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> saying fuck it and publishing this.
> 
> this idea was very much inspired by a piece of artwork i enjoyed on twitter by @emiii707  
> https://twitter.com/emiii707/status/1338579515749113856?s=20
> 
> i have more ideas and headcanons for the character that i think would be fun to explore, so i might make a series.
> 
> i dont like including harsh topics in my works unless i have to, and so in case the clunky bridge paragraph wasn't clear, dream is the one who killed tommy.
> 
> edit: also!! i get really nervous replying to comments, but i love reading them! if you comment, i promise ive seen it and i appreciate it <3 you can leave constructive criticism there too if you'd like, im always looking for ways to improve on my writing


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